


Shades of Blue - Dimitri Week 2019 Drabbles

by shadowshrike



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bittersweet, Dimitri Week 2019, Gen, Heartwarming, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:41:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21820354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowshrike/pseuds/shadowshrike
Summary: A look into moments where Dimitri and his lions touched each other's lives. Entries will vary in length and tags will be updated with every post.Day 7: Rest - Dimitri is captured by Miklan along with the Lance of Ruin. He realizes how naive he's been about a number of things.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Dedue Molinaro, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Mercedes von Martritz, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 57
Kudos: 169





	1. Day 1: Savior King (Ashe)

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea whether or not I'll be able to finish all of the prompts for the week, but this will be my dumping ground for Dimitri week drabbles, most of which are very short. I hope the other Dimitri fans out there enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ashe has been summoned to Fhirdiad by his king for a private discussion. He ends up with a better understanding of Dimitri's dreams for Faerghus.

Living a dream was the surest way to dry up its magic. So Ashe had been told time and time again as he recounted the tales from his storybooks, eyes alight as they imagined a life beyond what a poor boy like him was meant to have. He had dreamed of a world where he was as brave as Loog, as clever as Pan, as steadfast as Kyphon. One where he could be a knight who brought pride to his family and honor to his king.

Revenge took his father from him. War nearly stole his king. And yet, through the thorns of regret that pierced Ashe's tender heart, the magic of his dreams never faded.

How could it when the lamps of Fhirdiad illuminated millions of sparkling snowflakes as they whispered to earth, their faerie-bright dance unlike anything Ashe had ever seen in the southern reaches of Faerghus? Visiting Fhirdiad at all was a miracle. A war hero, they called him. Him, the humble son of a baker who once stole to have enough for his siblings to keep their bellies full, now a friend of the king.

That’s what word on the street was, anyway. Ashe didn’t think he could ever consider himself friends with someone as grand as a king, not for Dimitri’s lack of trying. It was hard enough to pretend he was equals with normal nobles like Ingrid, Sylvain, or Felix rather than a vassal at their command. As much as he liked them, standing beside people trained to be knights and rulers since birth for made him feel tiny in his skin, like he was an insignificant insect being compared to an eagle because they could both fly. Those days he longed for Dedue’s soothing presence. He might have been a large man, one of the largest Ashe knew, but he never made the archer feel small.

So no, Ashe wouldn’t consider himself a friend of the king, not officially. Yet here he was in Fhirdiad, summoned by Dimitri to a private audience.

Ashe pulled his jacket tight across his chest. He had worn extra layers for the trip, but it hadn’t been enough for Fhirdiad’s frigid, twilight winds. The cold was starting to make his toes ache and teeth chatter.

“Hurry inside, Ashe! You must be freezing. I’ll have a fresh pot of mint tea made for you,” Dimitri’s concerned baritone called from somewhere overhead. It was too cold to look up, but judging by the direction of his voice, the king was likely standing on the balcony of his private quarters.

Hearing Dimitri sound like his old self, kind and full of worry, made Ashe smile despite his discomfort. “That sounds lovely, Your Majesty, but you don’t need to trouble yourself! It’s my fault for not wearing something warmer.”

No answer. Dimitri had already left to get him that tea, Ashe guessed with an internal sigh. He was never one to stand on station.

Ashe shook off the snow that clung to his coat and silvery locks as he stepped into the palace, greeted by guards who’d seen him so many times during the war that they didn’t even ask for his name. He waved to them and they waved back, wishing him a warm evening. What kind people. Ashe wondered how much of their good temperament was due to their shared service and how much was because Dimitri only chose the most tolerant men to guard his palace. He’d been adamant that Dedue would never face another day of harassment in the palace once Fhirdiad had been reclaimed.

Speaking of Dedue, he was waiting for Ashe outside of Dimitri’s room, a tray in hand with steaming teacups and tiny flower-shaped pastries. Ashe recognized the buttery-smelling blossoms as a fried delicacy from Duscur that Dedue had once shown him how to make them back at Garreg Mach. Unfortunately, when Ashe had tried to fry them on his own, half of his batch had fallen apart in the oil no matter what he tried. He’d needed Dedue’s practiced hands to guide him through the process to keep the fragile pattern intact.

“It is good to see you,” Dedue greeted. He held out the tray, eyes smiling. “His Majesty is waiting for you.”

Ashe grinned back, taking the spread of goodies from him, the warmth starting to thaw fingers frozen from the trek over. “It’s good to see you, too, Dedue. And these look amazing! You really outdid yourself this time.”

Dedue nodded, uttering a humble thanks. Ashe wasn’t bothered by the short conversation. They would have plenty of time to catch up when this was over, and Dedue was never one to keep Dimitri waiting for anything.

Taking a deep breath, Ashe pushed open the door to the king’s bedchambers.

Spotless, as to be expected from Dimitri. The furnishings in the king’s room may have been elaborate, but there were few other objects out on display. Neatly stacked paperwork on his desk, ornamental swords hung on a wall, and a row of books broken up by the occasional splash of green where Dedue had placed plants to breathe life into the otherwise stark space. 

The king paced in front of the balcony doors, awaiting his guest’s arrival while wringing his hands behind his back. When Ashe cleared his throat to make his presence known, Dimitri rushed to his side. The king ushered Ashe into the room and bade him sit, eat, and warm himself with the frenetic energy of a friend who’d forgotten to buy a gift for someone’s birthday and was trying to make up for it in other ways.

If Dimitri was that nervous about whatever they were about to discuss, it only stood to reason Ashe should be, too. However, to show his trepidation in front of a king would be rude, especially considering he was a guest in the man’s private space. Ashe stuck a flaky pastry in his mouth to keep from biting his lip. It didn’t help much; his poker face was awful, as Sylvain liked to point out every time they played cards. 

Dimitri sat down across from him with a sigh. “My apologies, Ashe. I can tell that I’ve unsettled you by calling you here with little explanation. I promise I won’t keep you long.”

“That’s quite alright, Your Majesty,” Ashe replied. His mouth was still full of pastry flakes and a few burst free of his lips, landing on his pants. Embarrassed, he hastily wiped them away, only for his cheeks to burn even redder with the shame of having dirtied the king’s floor. Ashe jumped to his feet to fetch a broom. “O-oh...I’m so sorry…! I can’t believe I was so careless…!”

Dimitri caught him by the shoulder, firmly pushing him back to sitting. “That’s quite alright. I’ll clean it myself when we’re done. Make all the mess you like.”

“I couldn’t!”

“It was only a jest.” A hint of mirth glowed in the ice of Dimitri’s eye. “But I would appreciate it if you would relax. You are in the company of friends here, even if you cannot think of me as such.”

Guilt lanced through Ashe’s heart. “I do wish we could be friends, really! It’s just...I’m merely a commoner and you’re my king.”

“That’s what I called you here to talk about.” Dimitri reached out to take a pastry for himself, slow to swallow it as if stalling while he found the nerve to speak his mind, or more likely for a man of his station, giving Ashe more time to settle himself. The archer waited patiently for his king to speak.

“Ashe…” Dimitri said, lips licked clean. “Would you like to become a noble?”

Ashe blinked at him. “What?”

“I realize you may not be aware of the dire straits the Kingdom is in right now, but a decade of political unrest and war has left most regions in disarray. Fraldarius and Gautier territories are as strong as ever, but half of the country was under Imperial sway these past five years. Even before then, Faerghus has been rife with rebellion. New leadership is the only way forward.” The king paused, the memory of Lonato’s loss heavy between them. His fingers gripped his knees. “We cannot return to the past, we can only hope to build a brighter future.”

Ashe knew that quote by heart. Loog’s final words, so wrote the poets of old. He wondered if Dimitri had purposefully pulled that from the history books, or if he embodied Loog’s spirit so naturally that they were his own words, too. “But...what does that have to do with me? I mean no offense, Your Majesty, but I know nothing about being a noble. Surely there’s someone better…”

“I wouldn’t have asked you here if I thought there was,” Dimitri interrupted, his voice gentle yet stern. “What our country needs now is not etiquette and lofty speeches. It needs the voice of its people. Someone who knows what it is like to fight to survive in the streets, and who still has the kindness in his heart to lend a helping hand to others. Someone like you, Ashe.”

Ashe cursed his pale skin as a dusting of pink blended with his freckles. “That is very generous of you to say about me.” 

“It is the truth. Perhaps one day, we can let the people choose their rulers for themselves. I’ve been giving the logistics of it some thought,” Dimitri murmured, his eye looking through the steam rising from Ashe’s teacup to some conversation he’d had in recent days. “But for now, it is important that Faerghus sees I have no intention of continuing the traditional ways. The world is changing, and we must change with it.”

Ashe cleared his throat to keep his voice from shaking. “So you’re starting by making a commoner a lord.”

“And a knight.” He didn’t sound as though he was teasing, but the king rarely did these days.

“I… don’t know what to say.”

“Yes, I hope,” Dimitri prompted. “I’d like you to take over Gaspard territory, as it is already your home. And before you protest again that you don’t know how to rule, I’ll give you all the support you need. Ingrid and Dedue have already volunteered to aid you.” 

Ingrid and Dedue, Ashe’s two closest friends from their Academy days. Let it never be said that Dimitri didn’t know how to motivate people. 

Power, money, friends, family - no one would turn down that deal. Dimitri was offering everything he had for the hope that the common folk being involved in government would finally ease their suffering. He wanted to give them something to believe in again, the message that things did not have to stay as they had always been, that the future was unknowable but brighter than the present as long as they worked towards it together.

Ashe took a deliberate sip of tea, letting the cool heat calm his throat and his nerves. Setting it aside, he stood from his seat, Dimitri watching his movements with a curious eye. 

Ashe kneeled.

“I accept your proposal, Your Majesty,” he intoned, head bowed, hand over his heart. “It would be an honor to aid you and your vision for Faerghus in any way I am capable.”

Living a dream was the surest way to dry up its magic, they said. But serving a king who was the savior of his people - that was a dream whose magic could never fade.


	2. Day 2: Tea Time (Dedue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri wants to teach Dedue something new. They end up finding a little happiness in their own way.

"Don't you want to be able to dance at the ball?" the young prince asked, picking at his gloves. They were a recent addition to his wardrobe. Duke Fraldarius had gifted them to Dimitri so he'd stop digging at the skin beneath during his fits of grief-sickness. They itched.

Beside him, Dedue shugged. He towered over the young prince, taller than even Sylvain who'd shot up like grass during the summer thaw. "It makes no difference. No one would wish to dance with a boy from Duscur."

Dimitri's soft face set in a frown, a caged beast in his eyes, but he didn't argue. There was no point in arguing with the truth.

"Then, what else would you like to learn?" he asked to Dedue's chest.

"Whatever would aid you, Your Highness."

The frown on Dimitri's face sharpened into a scowl. "Is there nothing you want for yourself, Dedue? I didn't bring you here because I needed another servant."

He brought Dedue home to prove the innocence of a dead people, so the Duscur boy had been told hundreds of times over the past year. It was kind. Dimitri was kind. And yet Dedue, to his shame, could not let go of this one piece of power he had over him, the one bit of insurance that Dimitri's kind words about Duscur would not become platitudes and lies with age.

His friendship would remain his final bargaining chip as long as the prince craved it.

"There is nothing, Your Highness," he answered evenly. "My only wish is to protect you." And with it, his hope, whatever hope an orphan of a dead people could have.

Dimitri's scowl did not ease. He paced like a tiger, restless without prey to hunt. A finger curled against his chin, tapping an anxious rhythm there as he looked for anything more he could offer, some diplomatic angle he hadn't thought of. Dedue waited.

"Tea," Dimitri said, coming to an abrupt halt.

"...Your Highness?"

"I will teach you to brew tea," the prince repeated. "You have not yet learned the varieties popular in Faerghus, have you?" Dedue shook his head. "Then I will show you, and you will tell me your favorite when we're done."

Dedue's brows creased. "It would not be right to drink your tea."

"How are you to learn to serve me correctly if you do not taste it for yourself?" Dimitri asked, remembering what Dedue had told him once about always tasting your food before you served it. It was useless advice to him, but he never forgot the rare nuggets of wisdom Dedue shared. Too often it felt like he was the only one worth listening to in these halls, and that included the Goddess.

Blasphemy, most would call it. Dimitri was starting to wonder if he cared.

The taller boy sighed, "I suppose you have a point."

"Of course I do," Dimitri announced triumphantly. "And once you've learned how they taste, you can add them to your herb garden."

It wasn't much of an herb garden, not compared to the one back home that he'd tilled with his father each year once the winter frost had ebbed, but Dedue was grateful for what little he was allowed to keep. Even a few old pots packed with dirt and shoved in his window was more than most of his people could ask for since Faerghus declared them vermin to be exterminated. 

(His family were not vermin. It didn't help to say that to anyone here, though, especially not the king.)

At least the guards no longer broke into his room and ripped up his seedlings, claiming they were nightshades being cultivated to finish off the royal line. Not since Dimitri caught them red-handed. It had been comforting, in a way, to see his suppressed anger given form through the prince's terrifying rant, though Dedue gently reminded Dimitri there was no need for such violence on his behalf, even if it was merely verbal.

Outbursts had not ended well for either of them since returning from Duscur. Dedue would not risk being separated from his only ally again.

"I would gladly add your favorite teas to my collection," Dedue decided.

"And your own favorite, too," Dimitri reminded him.

"Very well, Your Highness."

It was the right thing to say. Dimitri's grin broadened in a way Dedue would not have thought him capable of if the palace denizens didn't comment on how the young prince used to smile so easily before Duscur. The taller boy decided he liked how happiness looked on that kind face. If tea was all it took to make Dimitri’s eyes shine like the living's again, Dedue would make as much as was needed.

The next day, he gathered seeds from the chamomille plants Dimitri showed him growing alongside weeds near the stables. He sowed them next to his ginger. 

Ten years later, with the war won and Duscur finally beginning to heal, that same cultivar became used in teas across the nation. It took on a new moniker in merchants' stalls. It was the name Dedue had given his plant as a child, written in the neat script Dimitri had taught him on the base of the original pot, still visible in worn ink.

_ The Prince's Smile. _


	3. Day 3: Childhood/Long Rides (Sylvain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain and Dimitri sneak away from the Fraldarius estate. In the peace and quiet of a snowstorm, they make a promise.

“Glenn’s going to be mad if we miss dinner,” Dimitri muttered, glancing over his shoulder in the direction they'd come from.

He wasn’t sure where the Fraldarius estate was anymore. It had vanished in the snow along with their hoofprints hours ago by his best estimation - he couldn't judge the passage of time by the sun because that was stuck behind a greyscale wall of clouds and snow this afternoon. If Dimitri wasn’t so sure that Sylvain knew how to get back, his torch-like hair a beacon to follow through the near-blizzard, he might have been scared. 

The prince didn’t like it when his training made him find his way through storms like this alone. Not because of the wolves or the bears or the big, angry moose. In fact, Dimitri hoped they would run across one of those so he could brag to Felix and Ingrid that he'd been the first to fight a snow beast and live. Technically, he'd be the first other than Sylvain, who'd come back with bruises and cuts from fighting off wolves since he was younger than they were now, but Sylvain was good at everything, so that didn't count.

No, what Dimitri hated most about training alone in storms was the feeling like he might never make it back home.

But this wasn’t training. And he wasn’t alone. With just Sylvain and the horses, Gustave's lessons, Duke Fraldarius' rules, and Glenn’s nagging were a distant memory. Dimitri didn’t have to worry about his father’s expectations or his stepmother’s half-hearted smiles either. Out here, he could breathe, the whipping wind and snow clearing his lungs better than the stuffy air of Fhirdiad's palace ever could.

Dimitri looked at the blazing hair of his friend, half-coated in white but not sputtering out like a real torch would in this weather, and wondered if he felt the same way.

“Glenn’s always mad,” Sylvain reasoned with the absolute wisdom two extra years gave him. “I guess we could go back, but I didn’t think you were a scaredy-cat like Felix.”

“I’m not,” Dimitri huffed. He buried his face into his fur-lined hood.

Sylvain coaxed his horse into a slower pace so he could ride closer to the small prince’s side. Dimitri hated how jealous he was that the older boy made the big beasts obey him so easily. Dimitri still had to get a boost so he could ride at all, while Sylvain had already learned to hold a lance in the saddle like Glenn did. 

_ ‘You’ll be able to do it when you’re older,’ _ Dimitri’s father had told him.  _ ‘All Faerghus soldiers were born to ride.’ _

The king had not been sympathetic when Dimitri complained that if he learned, Sylvain would still be older and better at it than him. Even Glenn, who’d been a natural on horseback for as long as Dimitri had known him, hadn’t taken to riding as easily as the Gautier heir did according to the adults. They said it had something to do with the Gautiers being horse lords, though Dimitri didn't understand what that meant. How could you rule over a kingdom of just horses? They weren't any good at feeding themselves or paying taxes.

_ 'Sylvain being a talented rider is fortuitous for you,'  _ Dimitri's father had said, not explaining anything about the horse-subjects Margrave Gautier was hiding in the snowy north every time they came to visit. _ 'As royalty, we depend on our knights to protect us. Sylvain is destined to be one of your greatest knights alongside Glenn. It is your duty as their liege to take pride in their skills and support their growth. A good king cannot push others down to prove his strength.' _

Shoving the choking envy to the pit of his belly, Dimitri tried to follow the example set by his father. He called into the wind, “I’m glad I’m with you out here.”

Sylvain laughed. “Well, that’s good. I wouldn’t want you telling your dad I kidnapped you when we get back. I'm too young to die." 

“I’m serious!” Dimitri’s voice cracked. 

He didn’t like it when Sylvain joked about important things. It seemed like the more bruises Sylvain gathered from wrestling bears and training to be a knight, the more he smiled about unfunny topics like dying. Dimitri hoped he'd get bored of the joke soon like he got bored of the girls the Margrave told him he could marry one day.

“I really do like being out here with you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have come,” Dimitri muttered when the older boy didn't apologize.

Sylvain’s smile lost its teeth. Dimitri liked this one better, he decided, especially when Sylvain took a hand off the reins to ruffle the prince's snowy hair. “Hey, don't look so glum. I like it out here, too. It’s peaceful to be away from everyone, don’t you think?”

The prince nodded. He was a little surprised Sylvain liked the solitude, considering how much he also liked to talk, but it was nice to know they had something in common.

They rode in silence a while longer. Dimitri gave up on his sense of direction, focusing on the rhythmic crunching of their horses’ hooves and the cut of wind across his cheeks. He trusted Sylvain’s guidance to get them home.

“You’re going to be my knight one day, right Sylvain?” he asked suddenly, tilting his head back to look at the galaxy of frozen stars falling upon his face.

A rustle of clothing as the older boy shrugged. “That’s what my father says.”

“Well, I hope you are,” Dimitri confessed.

"Ah, you don't need me. You already have Glenn.”

The prince rolled his eyes, safe in the knowledge that Sylvain wouldn’t rat him out for his bad manners. “Glenn is mean. I don’t want my only knight to be like that. I’d rather have a friend, like you.”

“Then I guess I have to become your knight, don’t I?” Sylvain was laughing again, but this time it was like sitting by the hearth during a storm. He was a lot nicer and quieter out here, far from everyone else's expectations. 

“And you have to go on rides with me whenever I ask,” Dimitri demanded, if only so he could become half as good at riding as Sylvain was one day. 

The other boy answered with a kind, lopsided smile. "Sure thing, Your Highness. We can go out riding anytime you need to get away. All you need to do is ask.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

A knight of Faerghus never went back on his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just popping in to say thank you to all the readers and commenters who've been following along so far. I know I'm crazy far behind responding to people here and on my other fics thanks to the holiday season, but I hope you know I appreciate you stopping by and taking the time to let me know you're having fun. Enjoy the rest of Dimitri Week!


	4. Day 4: Crossover AU - ATLA (Dedue, Claude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri and Dedue set out in secret to prove that the Fire Nation murdered Dimitri's parents rather than the province of Duscur. Their paths cross with another strange boy named Claude who's on a journey of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossover with Avatar: The Last Airbender. Sorry for anything that doesn't fit in ATLA lore - I didn't have a lot of time to research this one, so I was mostly working from memory and filling in the blanks.

"Are you sure this is wise, Your Highness?"

Dimitri scowled, tossing their bags onto the raft. "Dedue, how many times do I need to remind you that you mustn't call me that out here? If anyone finds out who I am, they'll drag me back to my uncle and claim you kidnapped me." Neither of them wanted to know what the consequences of that lie would be. "I can't allow that to happen. Not until we prove the attack on my family was orchestrated by the Fire Nation rather than the province of Duscur."

"An admirable goal," Dedue allowed, though vital was probably more accurate. 

Fhirdiad had been in chaos since the rest of the royal family and half the royal guard had been murdered during an expedition to Duscur. Only the prince had survived, sporting heavy injuries and ghosts in his eyes. He slept for weeks afterward. When he woke, it was to scream about phantom images of fire and metal burned into his eyelids. The Fire Nation had killed his parents, he claimed. And yet Duscur, a small Earth Kingdom province that had recently pledged allegiance to Faerghus, was blamed for the Tragedy because that was where the incident happened. 

Dimitri's uncle had taken no prisoners. Justice was more important than the peaceful teachings of the Avatar, he had said when his nephew railed against him. One day the young prince would grow up and understand why this had to happen.

Dimitri was no longer a child, but his conviction that attacking Duscur was wrong had only grown alongside his height. The small victory of saving Dedue from his country's wrath was not enough.

His eyes looked beyond the ocean, reflecting their cold, soulless depths. "We have to do this. I know it was them and not Duscur...I remember how everything burned..."

Dedue placed a hand on Dimitri's shoulder to ground him in the present. "I know, Your Hi...Dimitri," he finished awkwardly. "And I accept that we cannot book normal passage to the Fire Nation to investigate. But perhaps we could tell the others? I'm certain your friends would accompany us."

"Impossible. Ingrid doesn't like to lie, Sylvain would get distracted by every girl who crossed our path, and Felix..." Dimitri trailed off. 

He didn’t like to think about Felix anymore. Not since he had cut all his old friends off, devoting his every breath to the path of the sword.

Dimitri still didn’t understand how it had happened. Naturally, Felix was angry after his brother died in the Fire Nation raid that had been blamed on Duscur, but his complete rejection of sympathy felt like something bigger than grieving a sibling. He called Dimitri names. Stopped practicing bending with the prince and his father like he used to. He snapped at them for even suggesting it these days, refusing anything other than duels where only their physical skills were used. It was a shame - Felix had been born with such immense natural talent that he could have been one of the greatest benders of their generation. 

"We will be fine on our own,” Dimitri reiterated for himself as much as Dedue. He hopped on the raft, holding a hand out to his partner. “If I must conquer an ocean to bring my parents' murderers to justice, then that is exactly what I'll do. I hope you will come with me."

Dedue clasped his hand. "I will always be at your side."

Conquering an ocean sounded easy when you grew up on tales of Water Tribe sailors who'd traveled from pole to pole with only a block of ice and a turtle seal to keep them company. But for a prince who'd never been swimming before and a man who grew up on the edges of the Duscur desert, it seemed much more daunting once there was nothing but water in any direction.

Dimitri realized the magnitude of his mistake when thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Dedue, we need to get away from that storm," he said, pointing at the foreboding clouds on the horizon.

He expected to hear Dedue paddling furiously behind him. When he didn't, Dimitri turned to witness his friend's stricken expression. "I believe we are too late."

The prince hadn’t realized how far storms could reach on the open water. Lightning was still far away, but the surrounding waves boosted them higher with each passing minute. Water sloshed into their raft as the sun flickered in a darkening sky. Sliding from side to side with the swaying of the raft, what few clothes and provisions they'd been able to take with them were rapidly soaking through. The wind picked up and Dimitri had to throw a hand over his eyes to see through the sea spray, hunting for some kind of escape.

There. Riding the edge of the storm. A small boat. It wasn't much, but it was safer than their sinking craft.

“Over there!” he yelled, grabbing an oar, chopping uselessly into the water to get them closer. 

The sea tossed them wherever it pleased like a petulant child playing with an unwanted toy. Dimitri spat as saltwater flew in his face, stinging his eyes and filling his mouth. One pack of supplies was lost to the depths. Then another. Dedue tied something around his waist, giving him an anchor so Dimitri didn't wash away, too. 

Another bolt of lightning cracked overhead, too close for comfort. Startled, Dimitri lost his footing on the slippery, drenched wood.

He fell into the sea.

Panic. Cold. A terrifying realization that he might be following his family soon, too soon, without ever finding the truth. A worse realization that he had doomed Dedue with him.

But then something tugged at his waist, his head burst free of the hungry waves, and Dimitri sputtered for air, free of its grasp. His body hit a hard surface.

“What…?” he wondered between coughs, rubbing at his eyes to remove the saltwater blinding him.

A voice he didn’t recognize greeted him along with a few hearty slaps to his back. “Easy there, buddy. Swallowing that much water isn’t good for your health unless you’re a fish.”

“Who are you?” Dimitri groaned.

“Not even a thank you for saving you and your partner?” The man chuckled, unbothered by Dimitri's hacking or the storm overhead.

His partner? Still nauseous and chilled, but regaining his grasp on the world around him, Dimitri rolled onto his knees. Not far off to his left was Dedue, panting and soaked to the bone, but very much alive. Behind him stood a huge, fluffy, six-legged creature that took up most of the deck and must have been the one who dragged them out of the sea, now grinding its teeth along the rope tying them together.

Turning his head to the other side, Dimitri took in the sight of their savior. The boy couldn’t have been much older than them. He was definitely Water Tribe, judging by his clothing and complexion, but the prince had never seen eyes that green on any of the merchants they got in Fhirdiad. Still, there was no denying that their mystery benefactor rode the rocking of the boat like he was born with currents in his blood. His loose braid swayed in time with the wind. His smile, charming and mischievous, seemed to hoard secrets behind it - the plain entrance to a mine that hid thousands of precious gems if you knew how to break through its stone walls.

Well, that was fine. Dimitri had plenty of secrets of his own. He bowed to the other young man, hoping it didn’t seem too regal with his bedraggled appearance. “I apologize for my impudence. Thank you, sir. We would have been done for if you hadn’t intervened. We’re both in your debt.”

“In my debt? I like the sound of that.” Laughter as bright as a sparrowkeet’s rang out over the roaring wind. “Are all Earth Kingdom citizens as stuffy as you?”

Dimitri cocked his head, cringing as his chilled muscles sent a spike of pain through his neck. “Stuffy?”

“We aspire to show our gratitude appropriately,” Dedue interrupted. “We do not mean to upset you.”

Their savior waved off his concerns. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve just never visited the mainland before. Was wondering if this is what I’m in for if I ever do.”

He must have been a sailor who kept to the poles, then. Another lucky break for them. Anyone who had been to the Earth Kingdom could recognize Faerghus' prince. As long as they escaped before word of Dimitri's disappearance got out, they might be safe traveling with this strange boy.

Dimitri tried to push to his feet, only to find the ship was too unsteady under him to stand, and settled for propping himself up on his knees. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Dimitri, and this is Dedue.”

“Claude,” the young man said, giving a friendly wave. “And where were you two trying to get to in that little dingy of yours?”

“The Fire Nation,” Dimitri answered.

Claude’s eyebrows lifted, and he let out a low whistle. “That’s an awfully long way for a raft like the one you were taking. Any reason you didn’t just pay for passage?”

“Ah...well…” They’d been in such a rush to leave the country, they hadn’t thought through that part of their cover story.

“I get it if you don’t want to tell me. Everyone has their secrets, right?” Claude cut in with a wink. “In any case, I can probably drop you off at a port if you’d like. I’m on my way to the North Pole to visit my mom, and a stopover in the Fire Nation sounds nice. I just have one request.”

“Name it,” Dimitri said as Dedue nodded beside him. Claude smiled wider at their seriousness.

“You let me tag around with you in the Fire Nation for a couple of days. I need to do some trading and could use a couple of bodyguards.” He pointed at the weapons strapped to them, the only part of their supplies that had survived the storm. “I’m guessing you both can fight, right?”

“A little,” Dimitri answered, as though he hadn’t been training with weapons and his bending before he learned to write. "However, I’m surprised you need our help. Forgive me for asking, but where's your crew?"

"I'm a one-man operation. Well, minus my flying bison, Taka." Claude patter the pale creature on its side. It groaned what Dimitri assumed was affection at its owner. “This is a personal trip. My first time making it, as a matter of fact. Coming of age and all that nonsense.”

Ah yes, Dimitri was familiar with those silly rituals families asked of their children to prove they were ready for adult responsibilities. For him, it had been hunting an eagle deer in the dead of night using only a spear. Traveling from the South pole to the North all alone sounded much harder, in his opinion.

“If our help won’t interfere with your rite of passage, then we would be happy to protect you while you shop. It is the least we can do for you after saving our lives,” Dimitri decided. 

He ignored the voice weaving through the gale around them, warning him that he was moving too slowly.

“That’s settled, then! Why don’t you strip off all that clothing and we’ll get you dry before you freeze? We’ve got a long way to go, still.” Claude turned to his furry companion, making a clicking sound in the back of his throat. “Come on, Taka. Get us out of this storm, won’t you?”

That day, Dimitri and Dedue learned the word 'airship'. They also learned that the curious boy who called himself Claude was far more than he seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus notes for this one because this drabble was getting long enough without adding in all these extra facts:
> 
>   * Crests are essentially equivalent to bending in this world. The reference to Felix being an exceptionally talented bender is a nod to his major crest.
>   * Claude's mom is a bender from the water tribe, but his father is an air nomad. He grew up among the air nomads which is where he befriended Taka and learned to navigate storms. Frustrated with the temples' isolationist dogma, he took off as soon as he was old enough to see the world and visit his maternal grandfather.
>   * Claude is a water bender like his mother, specifically a healer. He doesn't discover this until he's on his journey.
> 



	5. Day 5: Celebration/Alone (Felix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri has difficulty celebrating the war's end. That's one of the few things he and Felix still share.

The world was cold without the flames of war.

The realization sank to the pit of Dimitri’s stomach like a mace head swallowed whole as he looked out upon the celebration of his troops across Enbarr. When tomorrow dawned, there would be peace, but Faerghus would still be broken and he tasked with mending it. The dead would not return. The hatred would not fade. Their cities would still be burned, their children orphaned, their churches that once offered comfort in ruins.

This was supposed to be a night of merriment, but guilt and dread of the days to come drowned out the cheerful voices crying out in victory. How was a man like Dimitri, destined to a life of bloodshed, meant to change the hearts of all of Fodlan? What would he do without the solace of a lance in his hands? Could he become the man he needed to be, or would he crumble beneath the memories and regrets piled upon his shoulders? 

The voice of another pondering the same questions shattered his night of solitude. “Boar. They’re looking for you.”

Dimitri glanced at Felix, who had taken up a post at his blind side, joining his king in watching the drunken soldiers and their joyous stumbling that almost passed for dancing. His scowl did not reach his eyes. 

“They will do fine without me for one night. Don’t feel as though you must stay by my side until I head down. You should be with them and enjoy your evening, Felix," Dimitri said.

“Unbelievable,” the swordsman muttered. The sudden, spiteful pinch of his brows aimed at the crowd was meant for Dimitri. “After all these years, you still think I would waste my time on senseless festivities.”

He had misstepped again. It was so common with Felix that Dimitri had given up trying to understand the whys of the swordsman's frustrations. He was a man born for breaking things, and their relationship was no exception.

The soon-to-be-crowned king reacted with the only way he knew how - with a useless apology. "I'm sorry, that wasn’t the impression I intended to give. I merely wished to express you needn’t stay here because I have no intention of returning tonight. You’re free to spend your time however you prefer.”

Silence.

“Spar with me.”

It wasn’t a question, and Felix didn’t turn from his scrutiny of the soldiers’ off-key caterwauling as they cheered another keg being tapped to make his demand. 

Dimitri shook his head and sighed. “We just finished fighting a war. Surely now is the time for laying down our arms.”

“And yet you're out here because you can’t do that, aren’t you?” Sharp eyes darted over to Dimitri, daring the other to disprove his accusation.

He could not. Blonde hair curtained Dimitri’s eye as a bitter smile curled his lips. “You know me too well, Felix. Perhaps it is as you say, that I am as much beast as man. Letting go of the fighting is not easy.”

Dimitri expected a harsh reaffirmation of Felix’s cruel nickname for him. What kind of creature would mourn the loss of war other than a Boar King? Maybe the realization that there was no hope for Dimitri, not even after he’d come back from death to lead them, would finally be enough to drive the swordsman off. He never hesitated to cast aside dead weight before. Dimitri admired that about Felix; as a prince, he’d never had the strength to do the same.

It would be for the best to part here, at war’s end. If Felix truly loved his solitude as much as Dimitri hated it, then solitude was what they both deserved.

“Spar with me,” Felix repeated instead.

Dimitri choked on his surprise. His chin lifted and head turned to gawk at his companion. 

“Why?”

A beat. Then, “Because you need to be chaperoned, and I need a distraction that doesn’t involve losing my faculties to alcohol or women.”

For a single moment beneath the fading sun, Dimitri saw the pleading in his heart reflected in the polished copper of Felix’s eyes. He was a weapon who had longed for this peaceful day, bled for it, killed for it, but once he found it, realized there was no home for him among the smiling faces and carefree laughter. 

Felix was tired. Afraid. 

Alone, right beside Dimitri.

The almost-king turned his back to the celebration and Felix did as well without a word, circling to stay beside his eyepatch as if instinctively drawn to Dimitri’s blind spot. He might have laughed at the irony if he weren’t so grateful.

“Thank you, Felix,” he murmured, afraid if he said anything more he would destroy whatever fragile understanding had passed between them.

Felix huffed without malice. “I just couldn’t stand you looking so pathetic." He paused. “...Dimitri.”

The world was cold without the flames of war.

But with so many new kinds of warmth to explore, Dimitri might not miss it after all.


	6. Day 6: Last Moments (Mercedes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri heads to the cathedral for comfort though his faith is long gone. He finds Mercedes there, struggling to cope with the war in her own way.

Religion was something that Dimitri found difficult to grasp. The Goddess’s teachings had seemed so solid as a child, an illumination of right and wrong, shining and beautiful and untouchable lest he heard Gustave’s scolding that ‘laying hands on holy images is disrespectful, Your Highness’, which was his kind way of reminding Dimitri that trying to control his strength was like maneuvering a battering ram through the Queen’s china room. Of course, that hadn’t stopped a curious child from running his hand down the colored glass anyway when his guards were turned the other way. He traced the angular folds of the Goddess’ gown until it shattered beneath his fingertips and the whole cathedral burst into cries of alarm and anger.

He’d been crying too hard at the time to think about it, but as an adult, Dimitri found it disturbing how quickly that rage had become worry once they saw the precious crown prince was the one who did the breaking. They bandaged his hands and reassured him that he wouldn’t be sent to the eternal flames for an accident, especially once his father offered to pay to have it replaced. 

Dimitri wondered if the Goddess ever forgave him like they did.

Losing his faith hadn’t been as dramatic as that window shattering, slicing him up in a shower of rainbow shards. It was more like the slow drip of ancient glass slipping through his fingers. He clung to it, watching as it slumped into something unrecognizable and ugly that made him curse the Goddess even as he begged her fickle forgiveness. 

Faithless, he still sought comfort in the cathedral in the dead of night when he couldn’t sleep. It was a difficult habit to break. He’d been doing it since he was a child caught stealing sweets and publically humiliated in front of his friends for setting a poor example. Dimitri missed the days when the things that kept him from a peaceful slumber were so benign.

He hadn’t expected to hear crying other than his own when he stepped into the dark building.

“Marianne?” he whispered at the silhouette bowed at the frontmost pew. The lady turned and his eye widened. “Mercedes?”

“Oh hello, Dimitri. Have you come to pray?” she asked with a voice as sweet and trembling as a fledgling’s wing.

Too exhausted to feign polite indifference, Dimitri stalked towards the front of the cathedral with an outstretched hand. “Mercedes, what are you doing here? Are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine. I just couldn’t sleep.” She smiled, but her shoulders sagged. He’d never seen her so haggard before, as frail and exhausted as the soldiers she mended.

Guilt lanced Dimitri for believing Mercedes had somehow been immune to the horrors of war. That’s what she tried to pretend, of course, for the sake of her patients, but she was human like the rest of them. Hopefully, Annie had been checking on her. 

“I’m sorry for intruding,” the prince murmured. He took a step away from her, dropping his hand. “If you’d prefer solitude, I can find somewhere else to spend my evening until I’m able to sleep again.”

“I’d prefer you stayed.”

Mercedes’ delicate fingers wove around the prince’s gauntlet. He sat at her side.

“Would it help to...talk?” he offered awkwardly.

"I don't know.” Her fingertips pet along the ridges of his metal-encased fingers. It was an act of comfort he’d seen her perform with others before, but it must have been unpleasant for her with so much cold steel in the way. "I think what brought me here tonight was the same thing that brought you. You want to remember people, right?"

It was hard to sort out whether he wanted to remember (as they told him he must) or forget (as the coward in him begged for), but Dimitri nodded. "When I sleep, I think of their last moments. For a time, that was all I cared about. I thought I needed to remember the way they died, so I could fulfill their final wishes." He turned his palm over to squeeze her dainty hands. "Because of you, I no longer feel that way. I come here now to remember the good times as long as the memories last."

"I'm glad to hear that," Mercedes said, and her smile was genuine but shivering until another fit of tears overcame her.

"Mercedes?"

She sniffled with a knuckle pressed to her eye for several long minutes. Dimitri didn’t interrupt again. When she spoke, her confession, whispered towards the feet of the goddess in front of them, was so quiet Dimitri could barely make out her words.

"I don't have those memories for so many people. I don't know what they loved or who is waiting for them at home.” Another small hiccup forced itself through her quaking frown. “When I see someone’s last moments on the battlefield, the only thing I can take comfort in is that they'll be with the Goddess soon. I know I mustn't despair for the sake of the others, but…I wish I knew more about them than how they died. I feel as though I can’t offer enough to those who slip away to the Goddess’s embrace under my hands."

Dimitri smiled sadly, not brave enough to wipe her tears himself. They’d all faced killing so many times in this war, the horror of knowing the soldier you just ran through might have a family of their own waiting at home for them - spouses, children, parents, pets. They knew the weight of death struck by their own hands. The powerlessness of losing loved ones.

But the healers faced something worse, a cruel fate that would break the rest of them. They knew the feeling of a life they were tasked with saving ripped from their unwilling grip. 

Again and again and again.

“I’m afraid I can’t be of much help. My talents lie in breaking things, not mending them.” Mercedes didn’t protest, which was worrying enough without the silent tears. Dimitri stumbled on, lowering his gaze to his feet, “But...I think being a carrier of those final moments is enough on its own. Because if you experienced it, it meant they had someone with them when they passed on.” He thought back to his empty cell beneath Fhirdiad, wondering when he would die and if anyone would even know that it had happened, and swallowed. “I believe holding a dying man’s hand so they aren’t alone is the greatest blessing they can receive.”

Both of Mercedes’ hands wrapped around his then, pushing her feeble warmth against the cold metal. When Dimitri looked up, she was smiling tenderly at him, as though she understood his words were from experience rather than hypothetical, her face still stained with tears. 

“...Thank you, Dimitri. I think that’s a very wise way of looking at things.”

“Ah...You’re welcome. And...thank you, too,” he mumbled and let silence fall across the cathedral again. 

Mercedes didn’t let go of his hand for the rest of the night. He didn’t ask for it back. Maybe the Goddess wasn’t real or merciful and maybe Dimitri’s faith in her could never be restored, but for tonight, faith in humanity’s compassion would be enough.


	7. Day 7: Rest (Miklan, Sylvain)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri is captured by Miklan along with the Lance of Ruin. He realizes how naive he's been about a number of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of torture. It's not very graphic in the interest of keeping the rating and word count down. Also, this one is a bit more bitter than sweet, though it sets up for some good comfort in the future.

“Hey boss, I think the little prince is waking up.”

Dimitri swallowed, gravel in his throat and a shot of pain driving up his spine to his head like someone had shoved an arrow in there. Disoriented, he pressed a hand into his mattress to push himself up onto an elbow. Whatever was beneath him didn’t give. It was as solid as his bedroom floor, but without the rug to protect his head when he thrashed out of the sheets during a nightmare.

Something sharp jabbed under his chin, forcing him to lift it despite the ache of his muscles. Dimitri opened his eyes.

_ I’ve been captured _ .

Miklan stared back at him, or at least, Dimitri assumed it was Miklan. His hair burned as wild and bright as Sylvain’s, but he looked different than Dimitri remembered him. 

Life in exile had not been kind to him. His hair was ragged, overgrown and chopped off in rough clumps like it had been cut by a dagger. A scar ran across what had once been a handsome face in their youth. He looked as worn and beaten as the armor he’d stolen off the corpses of Kingdom soldiers, an ugly snarl directed at the prince. In his eyes, Dimitri saw the darkness of his own heart reflected. Bloodlust. Rage. Pleasure in seeing justice ripped from the hide of his enemies. 

Was this what Felix saw when he looked at Dimitri, too? A half-mad beast bent on revenge?

“Why hello there, Your Highness,” he drawled. “How nice of you to grace us with your presence.”

Dimitri didn’t dare swallow with the Lance of Ruin pressed against the soft flesh under his jaw. Still, he held onto what pride he could, befitting a prince of Faerghus. “Release me, Miklan, and you might yet be spared for taking the relic. You know your father won’t allow you to get away with this.”

Miklan roared with laughter that grated like talons across metal. “That monster is no longer my father. He made sure I knew that as soon as that  _ brat _ was born.”

“It is not Sylvain’s fault that you…”

Dimitri’s plea for his friend was cut short by a jab from the lance. “Don’t you say his name here. Not unless you want me to carve my vengeance out of his skin instead of yours.”

“You wouldn’t do that to him.” He knew Miklan was an angry, cruel person, that was the reason he was disowned after all, but some lines were uncrossable. Anger, no matter how powerful, was no reason to turn a weapon against a sibling.

“I wouldn’t?” Miklan growled. His burning eyes searched Dimitri’s. Then, slowly, a terrible grin tore across his face. “Oh, you don’t know, do you, Your Highness? Your little playmate never told you.”

“Told me what?” Dimitri asked though Miklan’s expression suggested he didn’t want the answer.

His captor sneered, leaning close enough that Dimitri could smell the acrid remnants of his dinner. “I tried to kill him. Dozens of times. Left him in the woods, shoved him down a well, poisoned him at dinner, even tried to stab him in his sleep.”

Memories trickled back to Dimitri. Sylvain bragging about getting into a scrap with wolves which was why his hair was full of sticks and his arms bruised. Him saying that he'd eaten some bad berries on a dare which made him too sick for visitors for an entire week. Sylvain's insistence that it was a tumble off his horse in the rain that gave him pneumonia and a sore back.

He remembered how happy Sylvain was to be away from home. How often he’d scolded the man for spending all his time with horses and women to avoid his responsibilities. The flash of fear in the laid-back knight's eyes whenever Dimitri was angry with him.

How had he missed the signs? It wasn’t Felix he needed to worry about looking at him like he was Miklan. It was Sylvain.

The prince’s dawning alarm slipped from his lips. “That’s…!”

“Not half as horrific as what he did to me," Miklan accused. The relic jabbed at Dimitri's neck, leaving a thin cut welling with blood. "He took everything from me.  _ Everything _ . My parents’ love. My title. My birthright. All because of your damn obsession with crests!” Something creaked as Miklan’s hands tightened around the lance’s shaft. “I will have my revenge on him and the bastard who sired me.”

The slice along Dimitri's throat immediately puffed up and began to burn. A clandestine whisper in his ear told him that was just the prelude, that in a few minutes he'd know what it felt like to lose his head, too.

Dimitri needed to regain control of the situation before Miklan's rage got the better of his tenuous grip on sanity. The prince might have been able to overpower one man with a relic, but even if he got his hands on the lance, fighting his way out of a bandit hideout alone would be impossible. Survival depended on his ability to stall until the Blue Lions found him.

Goddess above, he wished he had some of Claude’s talent for using conversation as a weapon.

“You already stole the lance. What do you hope to gain by capturing me?” Dimitri asked, hoping to draw his captor’s attention to something other than his hatred of his family. 

Miklan cocked his head, considering. He pulled back all at once, sweeping the lance through the air in a grand gesture. A few of his men skittered further back into the shadows. “Don’t you realize, Crown Prince of Faerghus? All of this is your responsibility. His suffering. Mine. It's your fault.”

Dimitri grit his teeth, guilt and shame wrapping their fingers around his neck. Now was not the time to let it consume him. “I regret that you’ve suffered, but I have nothing to do with what happened to you. Your desire for revenge is misplaced, Miklan.”

“Is that what you think? That you're not responsible because you weren't the one to throw me in the gutter when my kid brother was born with a crest?" The bandit leader swiped his relic against the stone, kicking up sparks. "It's your country that let this happen. All the Gautier family is good for to a Blaiddyd is fighting and dying against Sreng while you’re comfy in your giant palace, getting everything you want. You watch while your Uncle pisses away what remains of the cesspool we call Faerghus.” 

"I am not king yet," Dimitri protested, unsure why he felt the need to defend himself to someone like Miklan. "I swear to you, when I take the throne, I won't allow the practices that hurt you to continue. Let me go. Return the relic. I will do what I can to ensure you meet a merciful fate."

Miklan snorted. “It is far too late for mercy,  _ Your Highness _ . You've already shown your true colors in your silence. Even my brother knows it - why else would he hide everything I did to him from you?" 

Dimitri clenched his fists hard enough to bend steel. He didn't have an answer to Miklan's question. Sylvain, frustrating but ever-reliable Sylvain who would never abandon a friend in need much less his prince, had lied to him about his well-being for their entire lives. What reason could he have for so much deception other than not trusting Dimitri to help him? 

Was it because Dimitri had not responded to the cruel workings of the Gautier family under the flimsy excuse of ignorance? Or was it something simpler, some foolish comment he'd made about how Sylvain should treat Miklan more kindly, unaware of the torture he’d endured at his brother’s hands?

(He remembered Felix said the same hurtful things to Sylvain about appreciating his brother when Glenn had died. Had he already been forgiven? Was Dimitri the only one who hadn't known the full extent of what had been going on?)

"You don’t need to pretend you’re worried about him," Miklan said, interrupting his spiraling questions. "It’s what the little crested bastard deserves.”

“That’s not true!”

The lance was back at his throat. “Then prove it, Your Highness. I doubt a spoiled brat with a crest like you can think about anyone other than yourself.”

It was then, seeing the agony in Miklan’s eyes, that Dimitri realized the poor, twisted soul before him needed his revenge as badly as he himself did. Justice did not happen by chance. It had to be taken. It was like Lonato all over again, forcing Dimitri to make an impossible choice between his duty and his heart.

Only one thing was certain - Sylvain was innocent in all this. If Miklan truly believed Dimitri held some responsibility for the atrocities inflicted upon them, then Faerghus’ crown prince would pay the debt in his friend’s place.

He might fail his family, Dedue, and everyone else who was counting on him, but at least he'd right one wrong with his death. It was the best end someone like him could have hoped for.

“Anything you were going to do to him, do to me instead." Dimitri raised his chin, a confident mask hiding the heart pounding in his chest.

Miklan tapped the stolen relic against the prince's chin, amused. “So noble. Naive. It’s pathetic, really, but what else should I expect from a crest-bearing brat with no siblings to fight him for the throne?” The creature wearing Miklan's skin bared its teeth in a mockery of a human grin. “Alright, Your Highness. You want to take his place? Let’s see what you can handle. 

“They say that crests-bearers are the only ones worthy to wield relics. I’d say crest-bearers are the only ones worthy to be their sheaths."

Dimitri was glad he'd clenched his teeth before the first strike came.

The prince soaked up Miklan's pain. This was what penance felt like. The bandit leader’s vengeance flayed his already abused flesh, adding more scars to the ones on his back as his healers kept Dimitri alive, making him scream until his voice gave out.

The fits of torture blurred as Dimitri drifted in and out of consciousness. There were moments of reprieve between the blows, but he didn’t remember them until hours, or maybe days, later something changed.

"Miklan…" Dimitri groaned when the creak of armor approached. He didn’t bother opening his eyes unless it was demanded anymore, but he still had enough pride or perhaps cared so little about his own life, that he didn't curl away from the sounds.

"Not quite."

Dimitri's eyes shot open. He strained his neck to look up at the man's approach. "Sylvain…?" 

The young knight’s armor was bloody, his face covered in dirt, the carefree grin he always wore nowhere to be found. He looked, in a word, miserable. Like someone had thrown him from his horse and dragged him through the mud.

This wasn't what Miklan promised. Sylvain was supposed to be safe as long as Dimitri cooperated with him.

(Where was Miklan?)

The prince’s throat burned as he croaked out questions as fast as his weakness would allow him, "What happened? Are you alright? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

A gentle hand pressed Dimitri down so he stayed seated instead of wobbling on injured legs. Sylvain’s smile returned, softened to offer reassurance. He’d been so good at that since they were children, and Dimitri hated knowing why that was now.

(Had his smiles ever been real? Was he hiding from Dimitri again?)

"Whoa, whoa, easy," Sylvain whispered. "You need to slow down. The only one who's injured here is you, Your Highness."

That didn't make sense. Miklan wouldn't let Sylvain come here unless he was an illusion or…

"Miklan... he's…?"

Sylvain shrugged, his laughter weak. "Okay, so technically he's injured, too. Dead, if you want to be pedantic about it."

Dead. Of course. That’s where seeking revenge took you, Dimitri knew, but he hadn’t expected Miklan to meet his final rest so soon.

(Was it peaceful?)

"I see...I'm sorry, Sylvain," Dimitri muttered, though he was less sorry than he should have been.

Sylvain snorted and his lips dropped into a frown too close to the bitterness Dimitri had seen on his brother’s face. "After everything he did, it's a better end than he deserved."

"Not just that. I'm sorry I didn't realize…" Dimitri couldn't look at Sylvain any longer. He let his gaze fall to the floor, only partially because he was so exhausted he could hardly keep his eyelids open. "...that you and Miklan…I wasn’t able to...I never..."

He couldn't finish the statement, his mind struggling to focus on anything other than the pain and overwhelming regret. Thankfully, Sylvain didn't need him to say more. He stilled like a rabbit caught in a trap, then squeezed too hard at Dimitri's shoulder.

"Don't worry about any of that. It's not important," Sylvain lied. 

The grip on Dimitri's shoulder released, replaced by arms wrapping around and under him. Then he was floating, aching at the points of contact, but feeling safer in Sylvain's embrace than he had in years. He lolled his head against the breastplate.

"Our first priority is getting you home," Sylvain said. A dirty gauntlet cupped the prince's head and Dimitri leaned into the small comfort.

"Then I can...rest?"

"...yeah, Dimitri. You can rest. I've got you." Sylvain cradled him closer. "He can't hurt either of us anymore."

"Then...you should rest...too…" Dimitri murmured back. 

He was unconscious again before he heard Sylvain's response.

"Maybe one day I’ll deserve it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for following along with the week and all your kudos/comments! I had a lot of fun trying something really different from my usual writing. Hope you enjoyed the rollercoaster.


End file.
